


A Self Preservation Thing

by pyladesdrawing



Series: Lyrical [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:24:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyladesdrawing/pseuds/pyladesdrawing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it even possible to hit the ground before you fall? </p>
<p>In which Enjolras seeks Grantaire's help, stays the night, and discovers something that Grantaire wishes he hadn't.</p>
<p>Prequel to the main story, Lyrical.</p>
<p>Or how Grantaire and Enjolras learned to get out of each other's way and start acknowledging that whatever they had could be really, really good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Self Preservation Thing

**Author's Note:**

> so this is me filling my own prompt thing 
> 
> inspired by one of the best scenes in Love Actually (in my opinion of course) 
> 
> it's a prequel to Lyrical and you don't need to read one to get the other 
> 
> this will be a two parter I believe thank you for reading wow so much love
> 
> xx

_ And I don't want the world to see me, cause I don't that they'd understand. _

The "shift" only ever becomes apparent to them at 4:11 in the morning (well, vaguely apparent anyway), even though it's been obvious to everyone else for weeks now. It only starts making sense however, when Enjolras can hear a throaty yawn and the telltale rustling of papers that signifies Grantaire has finished his editing. He knows that he should be asleep, he can feel his shoulders slumping, his eyelids slipping shut, his body leaning further and further into the cushions- but he's forcing himself to stay awake until Grantaire has finished reading through the speech because he wasn't going to get any sleep until he was sure it was perfect.

Enjolras was calling Grantaire before he could understand why, waking the artist up from the first night of uninterrupted rest he's had all week (go figure). As he's sitting, phone in hand and laptop in his lap, he's not even sure if Grantaire will pick up, but he's incredibly relieved when he does, greeting him with a confused "Whatsit- Everything alright?" as he tries to navigate his cell phone whilst only half awake.

(of course, the doubt that Grantaire would pick up his phone is entirely unnecessary because Grantaire will _always_ pick up his phone for Enjolras no matter what time it was. he's devoted, and always will be. so when Enjolras asks to come over because he needs a "really big favor" and he "didn't know who else to call," Grantaire is up, out of bed, and dressed in less than five minutes time).

Three hours have passed since then, and now the pair of them are lounging on the infamous 'king of couches,' which holds court in Grantaire's passing-for-liveable apartment. As time passed, Grantaire's legs ended up resting across Enjolras' lap as the blond, half awake, flips through channels in search of the news.

"Well," Enjolras asks expectantly, sparing a glance in the direction of the other man. (has he always worn glasses?) "What do you think?"

"Very good, my leige. Your ability to both inspire and intimidate merely by repeating the phrase "bourgeoisie elitist masses" in combination with some frightful statistics remains as strong as ever," Grantaire responds jovially, not missing Enjolras' unimpressed expression. "It's fantastic. I still don't know why I was your first choice for editor, but I suppose that is a conversation for another day." (he doesn't catch the ironic foreshadowing in his words, but he's never been one for irony before- so why start now?).

Grantaire drops the papers to his chest (yawning some more because it is way too early for him to even be alive), twists a hand through his hair and looks at Enjolras properly for the first time since he arrived. His blond hair is falling in loose waves around his face and the corners of Grantaire's lips turn up into a satisfied smirk (because if there is one thing he loves more than anything else it's the way Enjolras looks when he's relaxed and Enjolras is looking relaxed in _his_ apartment right now when he could be anywhere else). "What," he questions, feeling Grantaire's eyes on him. He tries not to sound too defensive but he's tired so his body does otherwise.

"Nothing." Grantaire knows when he's been caught and can thankfully cover pretty easily. "I just knew those fabulous curls couldn't be entirely natural, that's all. I hope the product you use is free trade and all natural. Wouldn't want to seem hypocritical now, would we?"

Enjolras promptly pinches Grantaire's leg and the sharp sensation helps to suddenly remind him of their current position. It feels natural. Almost as natural as fighting but all too domestic which makes Grantaire hyper aware of the fact that they don't _do_ this.

He swings his legs off from Enjolras' lap (who most certainly does not frown at the lack of warmth, no sir) and pads off to the kitchen. "I need a drink. You want anything?"

Enjolras scratches the back of his head, thinking the question over. "Coffee? If you've got it?"

Grantaire gives a half snort, half chuckle by way of an answer and Enjolras is too tired to question it, so he just nods appreciatively when Grantaire makes his way back over with two mugs in his hands.

It's hard to pinpoint when things got so domestic. One minute they're glowering and screaming and then Grantaire is storming out and for once, crazily enough, Enjolras follows him. Neither of them come back that night, the meeting is dismissed after Combeferre gets a text from Enjolras saying that he's making sure Grantaire gets home okay, and not to wait up. Every moment since there has been a calculated, measurable change in their dynamic. (they're always talking or texting and they still fight of course but now they seem to want to fix things much easier than they used to).

Grantaire settles back onto his corner of the couch and goes back to watching Enjolras drink his coffee, re-read the speech, taking in all the notes he's left scribbled in between lines and squished inside margins. Something he's written makes Enjolras smile and he says "Thank you," on the tail end of a small laugh. "I really appreciate this." And he means it, in his tone and his expression and everything about the words hits Grantaire square in the chest like a ton of bricks. It stops his heart and takes away everything that makes sense.

"It's really not a problem. I'm glad to help you, whenever you need it. You should know that by now," Grantaire doesn't exactly meet Enjolras' eyes and gives a light shrug because he's not bearing his soul or anything but those words have a weight to them and he doesn't want to seem too... utterly and entirely infatuated. Sometimes he thinks he wants to just out and say how he feels because this whole thing seems right and he feels like there might be a small shred of hope that this could work out (the marble statue who is definitely tactile but never with him just let him sit with his fucking legs in his lap for three hours).

Enjolras smiles, hands curling around the warmth of the mug. (Grantaire casually watches all of this too, watches the way he yawns and soaks in how positively adorable it is because he doesn't know if he'll ever get the chance to see this again, all while simultaneously hating every other person who may or may not have been able to see the revolutionary this way). "I didn't realize how late it was," he says, gesturing to the clock on the beaten up cable box. "Sorry for keeping you up. I wouldn't have been able to sleep unless-"

"Unless you had my wisdom and guidance to make sure your speech comes out flawlessly? I love it when you stroke my ego," and then Grantaire winks, and it makes Enjolras' heart beat stupidly fast.

"Yes. Well." He's standing now. "I should probably get going." And then Grantaire stands too, almost too quickly. "Nonsense. You can just crash here. Take my bed."

Enjolras' eyes widen, and Grantaire laughs. "I'll take the couch, won't be the first time." He sees Enjolras open his mouth to argue (typical, really) but continues speaking anyway. "I don't take no for an answer. Even robots need sleep. Must dream of electric sheep and all. Come now, to bed with you."

It might be the exhaustion driving his actions (that coffee must have been decaf because it did absolutely nothing for him) because he does as Grantaire says, follows him to the small bedroom, and falls asleep the minute his head hits the pillow. (and he dreams of nothing but the scent of strong alcohol, bitter coffee, dark curls obscuring bright blue eyes, and a mouth curled into a tantalizing smile.).

\--

When Enjolras wakes up, he feels very... cliche, because he has no idea where he is for a moment, until it all comes rushing back and then he is blushing and doesn't know why. It's not like anything happened- and now he's cursing himself because he's getting worked up over the fact that nothing happened and he and Grantaire are just starting to be friends after all so he needs to _stop_ before he messes something up permanently. Thankfully, there is still snoring coming from the other room, so he could probably just grab his things and leave in time to shower before meeting with Lamarque to go over the speech one last time before the senate meeting at the end of the week.

He should have just followed the plan, or not let his curiosity get the best of him, but the sketchbooks are laying on the bedside table and the one on top is practically open, a charcoal case wedged in between some pages. Enjolras knows full well that Grantaire is an artist by now, but he's never actually seen his personal work and he is truly, very talented. A peek wouldn't kill anyone.

As it turns out, a peek does more than kill. It floors Enjolras. There are profiles and sketches of hands and city streets, night skies, passersby in parks and restaurants, a few abstract pictures of swirls and circles forming beautiful shapes very reminiscent of Van Gogh (an idol of Grantaire's, if he remembers correctly.) His stomach growls angrily and he realizes just how much time he's spent just laying in Grantaire's bed looking at any sketchbook he can get his fingers on, smiling at the pictures of their friends and feeling his lips twitch into a frown when he gazes at the darker sketches. He picks up a red leather bound one and flips through it absentmindedly, trying to decide to see if Grantaire's awake yet. (he hasn't heard any snoring in a while and judging by the smell of fresh coffee coming from the tiny kitchen he can safely say that he's no longer the only one up.)

Then it hits him. There's something familiar about all of these sketches, these angular features and eyes and curls of hair. His eyes narrow slightly and he takes a closer look at the drawings. They are all of him, shining in battle, dressed in traditional greek attire, and ones where his face is contorted in passionate rage as he speaks, fist raised, to a crowd of faceless people. Some make him blush (the ones where he's tangled in sheets or wrapped in a tight embrace with another faceless person). The newest sketch, the one that draws him in and holds him like a python, must be recent, because his hair is longer than any of the others (he's been meaning to get it cut and never makes time), framing his face like ivy on the wall of a building. His eyes are sparkling (how one even learns to do that with a stick of charcoal he'll never know) and his head is turned, lips spread in mirth, almost like he's turned around just to laugh at something. It's beautiful and it's glorious and it's _him_. Enjolras can scarcely believe that Grantaire really sees him this way, but it's a strangely pleasant feeling.

Things are starting to make sense, very quickly now. He's no idiot, (blind though he may be to most attempts to flirt at and seduce him) but there's a part of him that wonders how he could have _so_ been blind for _so_ long. Grantaire has always been there, even when Enjolras is a nightmare and Grantaire doesn't want anything to do with him. He's walking into the kitchen, holding the sketchbook loosely in one hand, with an expression that is both dumbstruck and questioning all at the same time. Grantaire doesn't look up, not right away, but once he does his eyes widen almost comically. "Wh-what is that?" Of course, he knows exactly what that is but the question is the one coherent phrase that passes his lips.

"Grantaire, I..." Enjolras blinks a few times, still not sure if what he's uncovered is even worth mentioning because there is still a chance that he's wrong (though it's small, he knows, because no one else has a sketchbook dedicated to them, no one else entices the reactions that he does, and he hates to admit it- but no one understands him like Grantaire does most times). "I thought you- we always fight. We never see eye to eye, you're- I thought you hated me."

"Hated you," he splutters. "I could never- I wish you had never seen those, Enjolras. I'm so sorry, I really. That was supposed to be private. How did you even-"

"They were out, I just wanted to see your work, I'm so sorry Grantaire-"

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because I was snooping and I shouldn't have, I've made you upset-"

The way Grantaire is gnawing on his lip unsettles Enjolras, and when Grantaire speaks again he doesn't feel much better. "Listen, I've got a thing I need to go to. You can just leave whenever you need to, I've got coffee and some bagels I think. Shower is down hall if you need it," his voice is strained, and he runs a hand through his hair. "Bye, Enjolras."

There's a pause as he reaches the door, and then he's turning around to face the still stunned Enjolras, with a pained expression. "All of it, it's like a defense thing, you know? The fighting and arguing. Easier that way."

And then he's gone.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so the lyrics at the beginning are from Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls which I feel is a very Grantaire-ish song 
> 
> the next part will have coffee shop sort of first dates wow~
> 
> again thank you endlessly for reading and feedback is more than appreciated
> 
> all the errors are my own and stuff
> 
> c: <3


End file.
